Everybody said I was crazy keepin a handgun under my mattress but who’s laughin now?
We live in crazy times, you know. I mean you really just never know. There was that one lady, she took away the rapist’s gun and shot him with it? A story like that sticks with you. So when my husband died, hell yeah I did. I put his gun right under my mattress and told my kids I’d tan their hides if I ever found out they touched it. Ever. But I damn well felt safer knowin it was there.
Even with all those no trespassin signs we still get scrappers. Like I said, it’s crazy times. Desperate times. Nobody cares about dogs in your yard or signs. I got No Trespassin, I got Private Property, I got No Soliciting. My yard lights up like a damn ball field you take one step into it after dark. Makes me feel a little safer, but damn if that don’t set Leon’s rooster to crowin all hours. He’s lucky I don’t shoot that nasty bird.
Desperate people don’t care. They gon’ try and get what they can get. Soon as they sniff out it’s just me and the kids, we look weak to them. I can tell. I knew it was just a matter of time so I called those alarm guys. Cost me a pretty penny, too, with the window sensors and everything.
That night when it happened? That damn alarm didn’t even go off. Damn teenagers. Dumbest thing I ever did, givin her that code. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What saved us though? That new kitten we picked up at the feed store, no crap. She scared crapless of a man. She took off like a bat outa hell down the hall when he came in, all spits and growls, hissed like a rattlesnake. She sounded like a little herd of elephants, slidin every whichaways into the walls on her mad dash to the first open door. Soon as she came barrelin in there I clicked that door shut real soft and I scooped her up along with my babies and shoved em all three out the window onto the deck. I figure that jackass was probly standing still as a statue in that pile of broken glass in my living room, hopin the kitty didn’t wake anybody with her train ride done the hall.
Best thing we ever did, puttin in those custom windows in the master bedroom. Low to the ground, extra wide? So expensive we couldn’t afford the custom screens that went along with ’em. You can climb right through onto the deck furniture, and don’t think we didn’t do it a time or two back in the day, in reverse, when we been drinkin a little too much out by the fire. Right in through the window and collapse in a heap onto the bed, we did. Hell, that’s how we ended up with a baby 7 years younger than our middle child! Girl, but I guess I won’t be tellin stories like that much anymore though will I.
My kids, they not much for reminiscing lately, not even the oldest one. One thing I can say though is they got tight like a little knot after their daddy died, somethin I’ve been wantin for a long time. Those girls don’t go nowhere without their little brother and I know that’s real hard for em too, what with him bein such a carbon copy of his old man. Maybe they talk to each other, I don’t know. I get sad in the late night, even with em all piled up in the king sized bed with me keepin me company, all gangly arms and legs up under my gramma’s oldest holiday quilt. I can’t sleep if I don’t have my babies in there. My therapist, she said it’s just fine, me havin my kids sleep there in that big ole bed with me. She said it’s real common after kids lose their dad. But I didn’t tell her yet it’s mostly my idea.
But it’s a damn good thing though, right? Cause if they couldn’t of got right to the window? If they’d of had to get all the way across the hall with that man somewhere in the house, looking’ for them? Well I just don’t even want to go there.
Anyway. That window seen a lot of action, ain’t it?
My kids landed right on the couch and I told em run! Run to your uncle Grady’s house! Lucky for the full moon that night, all bloated and orange from pollution I’m told but I don’t care, I’ll write a thank you letter to pollution then, because it’s dark as hell out there most nights. Lotta nights those kids would’ve been twisted up in the vines not twenty feet off the yard, squealin for their mama.
You wanted to know what happened that night? Why they had me up in there all that time and why every-body’s trying’ to talk to me now? Well. I’m no’t especially proud of it, but here’s what: I just got so mad, you know? To invade my house like that, scare my babies! You feel violated is what you feel. If you never been in that situation, you don’t know, you see? You feel violated and this instinct takes over. First it’s all about protecting your kids, and all that. But I did that, you know? I got them out the house and sent them away. So I hunkered down on that deck couch, aimed my Glock right through my favorite window and waited for that motherfucker to open my bedroom door.
For the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week, Lindsey challenged me with “Look Up from your computer. Now. Right now. Fall in love with the first thing you see.”> and I challenged Toby with “Look around you right now, pick an item and write a story around it”.